


Strange Fruit

by lunicole



Series: Americana [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Music, Blues, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, UST, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunicole/pseuds/lunicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn Trooper and Poe Dameron are good scene names, Finn can’t help but to think as he watches Poe tune his mandolin with the usual care he puts into the craft. It has a better ring than Phillip and Pablo, without really betraying where they’re both from. Poe says it’s all about how you bear it with pride, but once again, Poe isn’t really coloured the same way Finn is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Fruit

_Finn Trooper_ and _Poe Dameron_ are good scene names, Finn can’t help but to think as he watches Poe tune his mandolin with the usual care he puts into the craft. It has a better ring than _Phillip_ and _Pablo_ , without really betraying where they’re both from. It’d be pointless anyway. There isn’t much things that can hide the colour of their skin, or the hint of sunshine out there in the peach fields that colour their speech around these parts. It’s okay. Poe says it’s all about how you bear it with pride, but once again, Poe isn’t really _coloured_ the same way Finn is.

 

It’s a dingy little bar where they’re playing tonight. The pay is surprisingly decent for that kind of gig, and they’ve been promised a place to stay for the night. Finn has always been a bit skeptical when it comes to those kinds of offers, but Poe had wholeheartedly agreed, hugging the owner of the bar before Finn could have the time to place a word. It’s typical Poe, but Finn has grown used to it, with the time they’ve spent rolling around the country in freight trains with nothing more than a few bucks in their pockets until the next gig.

 

“You know, we should give this Rock ‘n’ Roll thing a chance some day, Finn,” Poe says at one point, sitting next to him at the counter. “Get one of these fancy electric guitars and another guy to put behind a drum set. I hear it does wonders with the ladies.”

 

Poe laughs, empties his drink, and Finn can’t help but to smile a little bit at the quip.

 

“Like that hack Presley guy on the TV, huh?”

“He does get a whole lot of girls fawning over him just for shaking his little whitey hips a little, don’t you think?”

 

Poe does a little dance move on the chair he’s sitting on, giving Finn a little nudge on the shoulder. It’s always a comforting feeling to know there’s still space for dreams under thick curly hair. Poe’s already a tiny little bit drunk even though it’s hardly evening just yet, but that’s okay. Finn laughs.

 

“As if you need that to get around, horndog.”

 

Poe shrugs.

 

“A little stardom magic can’t hurt, though, you have to admit.”

 

He does, and when they play that night, he tweaks his guitar playing a tiny, tiny little bit. It makes Poe smile, and patron throw a beer bottle at him which he dodges with practiced ease. It doesn’t matter because when they start _I Haven’t Got A Home_ , there’s a battered drunk little old man in the front row who starts crying. Somehow, it’s a better payment than the money they’re given over the counter of the bar by a nonplussed owner who’s money counting is as inaccurate as a blind dog’s guitar playing.

 

When he crashes on the half-destroyed mattress Poe and him are to share until tomorrow morning, Finn can’t help but to dream of shiny clothes fit for national television and thousands of listeners with their eyes on the both of them.

 

 

They’re in New Orleans for the summer, and even though the heat is barely bearable, they play every night in one of the city’s small underground little clubs that litter the Red Light district. The money is good and the place they’ve gotten themselves is small and dirty, but it’s better than all of their accommodations in the past year or so. The life they lead there is a good one, between the lazy mornings and the wild nights that glint like ferry boats over the Mississippi River.

 

Poe loves New Orleans with a fervour a native of the deep South such as Finn has a hard time understanding. It’s because it’s so different from the small towns they’ve played in recently, because easy girls are nowhere near as hard to find in a city of vice such at this one and because patrons are infinitely more generous when it comes to offering liquor to poor musicians here.

 

“You know, if you keep going to that place all the time you’re going to get the clap or some nasty shit down there,” Finn says to Poe as he comes home after a night at some brothel he’s forgotten the name of. Probably something in approximate French, with a heavy, busty Madam taking care of a few dozen of powdered orphan girls.

 

Poe laughs, throws himself on the bed of their one-room apartment.

 

“You’re right, maybe I should spend more _quality time_ with you instead, wifey.”

 

Finn rolls his eyes, but there’s something about the insinuation that makes him uncomfortable for reasons he’s not sure he wants to admit to himself. He lets himself fall on the bed next to Poe, groans.

 

“Sure, when you and I both get to share a bungalow in, I don’t know, fucking Montgomery or something.”

 

The image makes Poe smile, and he props his head on Finn’s shoulder.

 

“Promise me we’ll kill ourselves before that ever happens, darling.”

“I promise. Real Shakespearean tragedy, with the knife and the poison and everything.”

 

They both giggle stupidly. They’ve got a show to be at in a few hours, but they’re both too lazy, and too comfortable to move. Poe snuggles closer, and Finn can’t help but to feel hyper aware of the feeling of his hair against his neck, his very distinct smell, and the warmth that radiates from him.

 

Finn closes his eyes, and tries not to focus on the nagging feeling inside his chest that won’t go.

 

It takes an entire season for them to have to leave the city in a rush after Poe’s managed to sleep yet again with the wrong woman. It’s a funny story, it really is, the kind of story that only ever happen in New Orleans, but it doesn’t make Finn laugh as they have to leave what was becoming a pretty decent watering hole. He doesn't speak to Poe for the entirety of the riverboat ride they’ve managed to sneak into on their way to up the Mississippi again, but the kicked puppy looks he gets have him break his resolve once they're in Memphis.

 

 

They’re both piss drunk the first time Poe proposes him to share a girl. It's a decent offer, and a smart one given how they're strapped for cash now, or at least that's what Finn’s fuzzy mind makes up as an excuse at the moment. She's a pretty girl, all the right curves at the right place, chocolate skin and curly hair. It’s Finn who approaches her first, and she eyes him with a quiet curiosity at, and smiles with an amused look on her face as he tells her about Poe’s plan.

 

The name she gives to them is Kanata, and it's has a certain ring to it the same way stage name give musical acts that little something extra to a performance.

 

“It's a pretty name,” Poe says, because he’s the kind of guy who can’t shut up even for a minute.

“My mother was Cherokee,” she smiles as she undresses in front of them. “She'd sing lullabies to me in her own tongue, but I never learned.”

 

She's thinner than what she looked like in that dress, but Poe isn’t complaining, his eyes riveted on her form. They’re both sitting on the bed, ogling her. Her pimp is out the door, and they've both paid their share for the ride. She keeps her stockings and garterbelt on, her dark skin in stark contrast with the gaudy red colour of the undergarments. Between her legs, her sex is covered with a trimmed layer of kinky hair. Finn can’t help but to be fascinated by the look of it, the delicate, inviting little slit between her legs.

 

It's Finn that she kneels in front of first, producing a condom from seemingly out of nowhere. Poe gives him a look, laughs, and Finn feels his face heat up both in excitement and embarrassment.

 

“Wanna see a magic trick?” Kanata jokes as she rips the packaging open.

“I do,” Poe interjects, making Finn roll his eyes.

“Shut up, Poe.”

 

There's indeed something impressive about a girl rolling a prophylactic down his cock with nothing but her lips and tongue, and Poe makes one or two stupid comments that somehow don't get to make Finn lose his buzz.

 

Kanata fucks him first, too. She rolls her hips over him, and he comes quickly, his eyes closed even though he can feel Poe’s gaze burning through his skin. It's both embarrassing and exciting, as most of Poe's ideas are, and when he’s done the girl rises from him, takes the condom off his cock and ties a nifty little knot on it before tossing it into the trashcan next to the bed.

 

Then she kisses his forehead with a smile, and has Poe bend her over the mattress while Finn gets dressed. It’s an interesting sight to see them go at it, even though it's hardly the first time Finn witnesses Poe having sex with a woman. He doesn't know what exactly makes it different than all the other times he's caught him in that position in their shared accommodations. Maybe it's the taste of whiskey in the back of his throat and the slight buzz that remains, dark skin against lightly sunkissed one, the grunts, the slapping of flesh against flesh.

 

That’s not, however, what Finn remembers the most from that night the next day, when he wakes up with a splitting headache and the very real need to throw up. It’s the little whistle as he’d left the room, and the wink from Poe as he kept fucking the girl against the bed. Finn doesn’t try to think too much about what it all means.

 

 

Finn’s favorite song to play is _Strange Fruit_. It’s a song that hits home, with the right notes and the right playing, making his native dusty old slum come alive before him. To him, this is how blues should be sang, with the right amount of pain that transcends Lady Day’s voice.

 

They’re in New York this time, and it’s oddly fitting to be singing this so far away from home. The New York scene is different. It’s the North, and it’s cold, but they make do, like they did in New Orleans. The club they play at for the season upon a contract with the owner is an interesting one, mixing blues and jazz, the occasional big names straight from _Birdland_ and the anonymous little numbers such as _Trooper and Dameron_.

 

It hadn’t taken time for Poe to find himself an affluent divorcee who would indulge him once in awhile with lavish gifts and sustain his drinking habit with fancier things than the Southern bathtub whiskey. He calls her his “girlfriend from Long Island” with an amused smile, never saying her name. He says he likes her, and he likes the gifts, and the fancy booze, but that doesn’t stop Finn from feeling that little hint of self-disgust in Poe’s voice when he drinks too much to hide behind a mask anymore.

 

Finn doesn't ask about her name, her face or even her bank account. It feels out of place. It's because Finn isn’t stupid enough not to recognise a gigolo when he sees one. It’s not like he has anything to say about it anyway, because it puts money on the table, the kind of money they desperately need to afford the sleepless metropolis in the winter.

 

Finn’s favorite song it _Strange Fruit_ , and it’s the one that they’re playing that night at _The Republic_ when he feels Poe’s gaze intent on him with something else than the usual connection music bridges between them. The impression doesn’t last, as everything about Poe is always fleeting, and soon enough Finn is singing with emotion, and a small hint of bitterness too. It’s never as good as Lady Day’s, but it never fails to bring back memories of good old South Carolina, where he’s promised himself he’ll never set foot ever again.

 

_“For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop_

_Here is a strange and bitter crop”_

 

There’s an unenthusiast clap around the scene once their set is done, which is nonetheless a feat in itself when it comes to their performances here, and Poe gives Finn a slap on the back as they walk off stage.

 

“It was good. Great even,” he says.

“Thanks, I guess. Still sucks that these New Yorkers can’t recognise a proper blues song from that whitey shit on the radio for all that ridiculous money it takes to live here.”

“True,” Poe smiles, but it seems like his heart isn’t in it.

 

They sit at the bar, and Finn feels like he needs something strong to get himself in a good mood now. Poes just isn’t any fun tonight.

 

“You’re not drinking?” Finn asks, surprised, when Poe asks for a glass of water.

“Not tonight.”

 

Finn frowns, but doesn’t ask questions. Poe looks distracted as they both sit there, and Finn finds himself making conversation by himself, feeling like Poe is a million miles away from him. It’s about a girl, probably, Poe gets like this when it comes to girls, and Finn feels himself warm up from the alcohol and from the anger. He does give up chit chat at a certain point, shrugging as he downs his drink.

 

“I’m going home,” he states flatly. “You coming?”

 

Poe smiles, and it’s a sad smile, but Finn is too upset by whatever is the matter with him to care.

 

“I’ll stay here a little more if you don’t mind. Don’t wait for me.”

 

Finn do as he’s told, and he’s angry when he leaves. He walks home, the pavement covered with a thin layer of snow makes that soft crunching noise under the soles of his shoes.

 

 

The next time he sees Poe is a week later, in a hospital bed with his pretty boy looks smashed in and a good amount of plaster over his right leg. Finn hates that he can’t punch the idiot right in his stupid face for all the shit he’s been dragged into because of him, but he can’t bring himself to hate Poe. He can never really bring himself to hate Poe, all things considered.

 

Poe’s untimely disappearance had had Finn worried sick, and the owner of _The Republic_ pissed off enough to tell him not to bother coming back for work any time soon. It’s only after that that he’d received a message from the landlady, saying Poe had called to say he was at the Mount Sinai for some time and that he wouldn't mind Finn’s company, if he wished to visit him.

 

“You look like you got run over by a car,” Poe smiles cheekily, his face black and blue.

 

_What an absolute prick._

 

“Fuck you.”

“I’m glad to see you too.”

 

It takes every inch of self-control for Finn not to punch the stupid, rude, reckless little smirk off Poe's face now. He, however, allows himself to grip his shoulders and force him to look at him properly.

 

“This isn’t a fucking game, Poe! You fucking disappeared, alright, and now we’ve lost our gig at _The Republic_ because of you dickhead, so you better explain what the fuck happened, okay!?”

 

Poe seems to sober up. He winces slightly at the sudden gesture,but Finn hardly cares about his physical state now that he knows he isn’t dead somewhere in this freezing, shitty sleepless city.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, I swear to you I can explain if you let me.”

 

Poe smiles weakly, now, and gestures for Finn to let him go in an almost begging manner. There's a moment of hesitation during which Finn isn't sure of what to do, but it doesn't last. Poe is back in a more comfortable position on the bed, and he looks sad in a more open, earnest way now.

 

“I… I broke up, okay?”

“What?”

“That person I was seeing. I dumped them.”

 

Finn only looks at him.

 

“You dumped your girlfriend from Long Island?”

“Well…”

 

Poe bites his lips.

 

“It wasn't a _girl_ friend per se… And he didn’t live in Long Island anymore, I think, anyway. I dumped him and, well, the guy was six foot tall and had some anger issues, he beat the shit out of me for it, so here I am.”

 

The laugh Poe has is a bitter, self-deprecating one, and Finn can’t find anything to say. There's this awkward silence that falls between them. In Finn’s mind, everything falls into place, and _of course, of fucking course_.

 

“Look,” Poe continues as he lets himself rest more comfortably on the hospital bed. “I don't expect you to understand or anything. You're free to leave town with whatever money we had left from the gig and for next month’s rent. We both know you hate this city and only agreed to stay because I asked you to.”

 

It's true, but somehow it isn’t, and Finn can't speak. There's something stuck in his throat, and his silence it makes Poe sigh sadly. It's obvious that this is the end, that there's no way any of this is going to work, and so all Finn manages to croak out are sharp, cutting words he knows he will wish he hadn't said later. Poe takes them in stride, with a sad little smile, just as Poe takes everything, and it's over, just like that.

 

Finn leaves town the next day, with a brand new electric guitar and a phone call to Jackson, where he is to play next, solo now. He doesn't look back on the city as he rides back South, back home, at the end of the bus with songs filling his head already with the colour blue. There's nothing tying him here, or anywhere anymore.

 

 

It's funny, how life comes to a circle, at a certain point. It seems like a full century has gone by when they meet again, in Poe’s sunny native California, of all places. Finn is playing in San Francisco for the first time, with Rey Walker, in various scenes around the city. He knows the reason for their mild success isn’t really the quality of their music as much as the burning political storm that surrounds an act starring a black man and a white woman in love onstage.

 

It's okay. Finn has known worse, and so has Rey. They care deeply about each other in a way that only children without a proper family can understand,and it's refreshing to find someone who understands him after all these years spent rambling around the dusty roads of the country. It's not something Poe would understand, or so Finn feels as he catches sight of the familiar mop of curly hair among the crowd and the dashing, carefree smile that follows.

 

“Finn!? Finn is that really you!?”

“No, it's his twin brother, idiot. Of course it’s me!”

 

They hug each other earnestly, and just like that the years they've spent apart disappear, the old griefs are forgiven. They look like idiots right there, grinning at each other in the middle of a busy street, and they do get a rather loud honk thrown at them for blocking traffic. It doesn't matter because Finn is ridiculously happy to see his old friend again.

 

Soon enough, they're sharing a coffee on the sidewalk of a quieter street, not to far from Finn’s lodging for the following few weeks. Poe is as lively as ever, even though there are new lines on his face now, a rather tasteless mustache on his upper lip and a more earnest kind of warmth to him. He tells Finn he’s stopped drinking, got his act together again, that he sells cameras downtown now to tourists and wealthy hobbyists. Finn nods, says it's a good life, doesn't dare to ask about Poe's other vices. He doesn't want to know, and so he tells Poe about his own years on the road, about electric guitars and his discovery of jazz, and about Rey.

 

“She’s good to you, your girl?”

 

Finn laughs.

 

“She is. Dear God, she is!”

 

Poe has this little sigh, and he shrugs. He seems happy, but there’s a hint of melancholy in his voice. Finn catches it, but he doesn’t say anything about it. It’d be pointless.

 

“Lucky guy. I bet she doesn’t get you in some kind of shitstorm every month or so like I did,” he jokes.

“You’d be surprise, you know. Rey might have a tad bit more self-control when it comes to her libido than you, but there isn’t a social cause for which she won’t get meddled into wherever she goes, which is nearly just as bad.”

 

It’s true, but that’s one of the charming things about Rey, like her soft brown eyes and her rare, but luminous smile. Somehow, it feels wrong to explain it to Poe, but Finn doesn’t have to. Poe lets out a brief laugh, and looks at Finn with a knowing expression on his face.

 

“I get that. I guess…”

 

Finn knows, just from the sound of his voice, that he’s about to talk about the past. Finn isn’t sure he wants to talk about the past, but it seems necessary for Poe, and so he sets on listening to him.

 

“Don’t take it badly or anything, but I think I was a little bit in love with you back then… Maybe that’s why what happened happened, aside from the fact that we were both young and stupid. I just felt like I needed to tell you, because I couldn’t back then.”

 

Finn shrugs.

 

“That’s okay. I think I was a little bit in love with you too, although probably not in the same way, you know...”

 

They both chuckle. The sun shines over California. Finn isn’t going to ask Poe if he wants to play with him and Rey now. Poe is trouble, has always been, charming, crazy, reckless trouble, and it’s a life of blues, poverty and pain Finn doesn’t want to take on anymore. They both know this, but it’s fun to talk about old times, now that everything seems so remote from them. It’s okay. Time has gone by, and Lady Day is dead.


End file.
